


But You're Gone

by daring_elm



Series: You Look so Pretty but You're Gone so Soon [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Fluff and Angst, HIV/AIDS, Immortal!Virgil, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Unhappy Ending, WARNINGS:, not sure if it counts as historical if it's in the 80s but do i care? no, sorry 'bout that though, talk of death, there are probably a few inaccuracies but i did what i could
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2020-12-07 19:10:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20980928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daring_elm/pseuds/daring_elm
Summary: Still stricken by the loss of his first love, Virgil learns to believe in love again when he meets Roman. But this relationship isn't without its struggles either.(Part 1)





	1. Roi

**Author's Note:**

> and here's part two! i'm still sorry for how i ended part one, but i hope i can make this nice enough to make our boy happy again
> 
> warnings: alcohol/bar setting, mentions of death/illness, brief mention of smoking, cursing

The air was hazy with cigarette smoke and filled with chatter. A party in the back, of seven or eight, screamed occasionally, but were otherwise chattering and squawking like the chickens that used to be in their yard. Virgil bit his lip and glanced down at his half-empty Bloody Mary. He didn't know why he came here, really- but being all alone in a crowd of people was better than being all alone in a cold, empty apartment.

A group of queens stumbled through the door, half of them already plastered and stumbling in their high heels, all dressed like royalty- or rather, royalty if the court wore crop tops and skirts that barely made it past their thighs.

One queen took her long, bright red wig off, shaking out her hair. "Later, girls!" she crowed, then separated herself from the group and strutted to the bar while the other queens waved and tottered to a free- or almost free- table.

She plopped down on the barstool next to Virgil, carefully folding her skirt under her, then opened her shoes with a sigh.

Virgil didn't mean to stare- he really didn't. To be fully honest, he didn't know a whole lot about drag, but he assumed the queen next to him had just won a ball. He gave her a tiny smile, then focused on his (sadly) empty glass again.

"Hey, sweet cheeks!" The queen winked at him and Virgil blushed. "What are you looking all dark and gloomy for?" She gestured at his- admittedly rather monotone- black shirt and jeans.

"Hey yourself, your Majesty." Virgil grinned at her (though without her wig, she was looking a lot more like a he- Virgil wasn't quite sure what to think of her as). "I would've dressed up, but I think you've already stolen the show for both of us."

"Point taken." She laughed. "Let me buy you a drink, Stormcloud. Anything you want." She made a wide gesture to the menu above the bar. "I'm Roman, by the way." Ah, he.

"Virgil." He looked over the menu, then decided to get a mocktail instead- you could never be too careful. If Roman was disappointed, he didn't show it- definitely a good sign. "Something to celebrate?"

"Ab-so-lutely." Roman ordered what was described as the "House Special". "We just got the grand prize, darling- there's _ everything _ to celebrate."

Virgil looked him up and down. The lighting here was definitely far from perfect, or even good, but the shrill pink shine did make Roman look pretty as fuck. Toned muscles showed under the sliver of skin where his top didn't quite meet his skirt, and the dimples in his cheeks made his smile even cuter. His skin seemed to glow along with the candles on the counter. Even his hair was cute- shaved on the sides, and on top a mess of dark brown, almost black curls. It was a mystery to Virgil how it fit under his wig without any strands poking out- that was, until he saw the wig cap in his hand.

His hands were pretty too- his nails looked like they had taken an hour at the very least to paint. Though Virgil couldn't make out the exact pattern, he could tell that it was beautiful and intricate- _too _intricate to do alone, probably. His skin was soft and spotted with faded writing and specks of paint (Virgil could relate to him that far, at least; he always had paint covering some part of him, even when he wasn't aware of it- Patton had always pointed it out in the past). A tattoo of something Virgil couldn't look inconspicuously enough to see graced the inside of his wrist.

Yep, he didn't mind being bought a drink by Roman.

"Oh? Congrats." Ball culture really was a mystery to him- but he did know the basics. "You're part of their house?"

Roman took his House Special from the bartender, blowing him a kiss. "I'm a solo act, dear- but I tagged along with them for the night. Lucky for them, though, royalty's my speciality." He waggled his eyebrows, then handed Virgil's drink over to him. "So, what brings you here, Virgil?"

Virgil took a sip of the purple-ish black liquid to stall for a moment. "I had to get out,” he said carefully. “Think I would've gone crazy if I stayed in my apartment for another day."

Roman opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, then closed it again. “And how long have you been in the city? Not too long, right?”

Virgil shook his head. “It’s been… maybe three years since I moved to Midtown. Not a super recent thing.” He forced his eyes to stay focused on Roman’s face, on his soft-looking, red-painted lips, on his adorable dimples, on his strong shoulders and… oops, he was getting distracted again.

"Ah, you're still new. Three years is nothing here." Roman waved him off playfully. He swirled his drink, and Virgil caught a hint of passionfruit and pomegranate from the red-ish liquid.

"Oh? How long have you lived here, then?" Virgil leaned against the bar, taking a slow sip of his drink. Roman was definitely intriguing, and Virgil couldn't wait to get closer to him.

"My family moved here when I was eight- after all-" Roman imitated a strong Cajun accent. "-'New York is the city of dreams, Sugar, and your Daddy and I need a dream or two'." He chuckled, then tilted his head, giving Virgil a look that was definitely soaked with meaning- if only he could decipher which one. "And I guess they were right about the dream part, huh?" When Virgil didn't respond, just blushed deeper, Roman continued: "And I've been on my own since I was… seventeen, maybe? Turns out my parents and I have very different definitions of dreams." He shook his head, as if he was chasing away the thought. "Anyway- I know I'm a solo act, but what about you? Have you found somebody to love yet?"

Virgil nodded, then shook his head slowly. "Well…" He bit his lip, his grasp around his glass tightening. "I had someone- he didn't make it, though." While thinking of Patton got less painful over time, remembering his death squeezed his heart enough to bring tears to his eyes every time.

Roman softened. "Oh, doll- I'm sorry." He took Virgil's hand, and though Virgil barely knew him (and under any other circumstance would've pulled away immediately), he didn't really mind the gesture. "Me too. It's been far too many, huh?" He smiled weakly.

Virgil frowned- that didn't make too much sense. Of course gun violence happened, but it wasn't that common… His eyes caught on the red sash that crossed Roman's torso. _ Of course. _ He nodded. "Definitely." Not wanting to let go of Roman's hand, he crossed his arm over his chest to grab his drink.

Roman sighed, then shook his head again, sending his curls flying. "So, solo act-" He interlaced their fingers, giving Virgil's hand a quick squeeze. "-do you think I could see you again?"

Virgil smiled, and butterflies built up in his stomach in a way they hadn't in almost thirty years. "Absolutely."

Roman seemed pleased with himself. He fished a sharpie from a cup behind the counter, and scribbled a row of numbers on the back of Virgil's hand. "Give me a call, 'kay?" He grinned, then pressed a kiss to Virgil's knuckles before taking off to the group he had walked in with.

Virgil stayed behind, holding his own hand as if the kiss could slip between his fingers and be lost forever if he didn't keep it safe. The flutter in his heart may not have been a new sensation, but it was new in regards to anyone but Patton- and Virgil couldn't help but think that maybe he was starting to move forward again.


	2. Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: food; queer used to mean not straight

Roman took Virgil's hand, kissing his knuckles and Virgil blushed- no matter how many times he did that, it didn't stop being flustering. "Good evening, dear," he purred, kissing Virgil's hand again for good measure before standing up straight again.

Virgil just hummed, unable to find the words to respond- who gave Roman the right to be so smooth? His blush deepened when Roman didn't let go of his hand, but intertwined their fingers confidently. He shook his head and bit back a schoolgirlish giggle, then moved to open the door for Roman, letting him pass through first.

Roman curtsied playfully. "Thank you, Sugar," he said in passing, kissing Virgil's cheek when he followed him in, and Virgil couldn't hold his embarrassed giggling back this time.

The dining area was hidden behind curtains of yellow tulle, but through the fabric, Virgil could see the waiters dancing around entirely full tables, looking horribly overwhelmed. He turned to Roman. "Are you sure we'll find a seat?"

"Don't worry." Roman squeezed his hand and winked. "I have a reservation." He pulled Virgil towards a staircase to their left, the entrance marked with a lambda.

They entered a sort of balcony, with tulle curtains in every colour of the rainbow obscuring the view of the restaurant below. He let his eyes wander over the seated groups. They were mostly couples: Two women cuddling on the sofa near the back, a pair of men holding hands over a full table, and many more, almost all of them same-sex. A sunshiny feeling rose in Virgil's heart, and he didn't even begin to suppress it: In fifty years of life, he had never seen a space with this many queer people looking this relaxed.

Roman squeezed his hand again, then let go to embrace a man in a full suit, kissing the air next to each of his cheeks. "Salut, cher," he said, and Virgil had to dig in his memory to find the miserable remains of his French education (not using a language for almost thirty-five years did make you a bit rusty). ' _ Hello, dear, _ ' he translated to himself. Then Roman continued chattering in French and Virgil was immediately lost. Maybe he should consider polishing up his French a bit.

He gazed at Roman while he spoke, miming along with his words (and his friend was talking similarly- half in French, half in large gestures, with some unfamiliar, but definitely English words peppered here and there). The setting sun caught him just so, bathing him in light, and Virgil was starting to think Roman just had control over the lighting wherever he went, manipulating it to look as perfect as physically possible.

Roman's skin was a warm brown that glowed like he had an extra sun trapped inside of him, and his voice sounded like those trapped sun rays were streaming into the open. He was fire and energy; every word he spoke just made that clearer. Even when Virgil didn't understand what he was saying, he saw the flames light up in Roman's eyes, and he swore he would do whatever he could to keep those flames alive.

"...et c'est mon amoureux, Virgil!" Virgil perked up when Roman said his name, letting him pull him closer again. Roman smiled his sunshine smile and Virgil's heart skipped.

Virgil waved at Roman's friend, but he seemed to have other plans, pulling him into a tight hug. Freezing up, Virgil turned to look at Roman, locked in an expression that hopefully portrayed his nerves over the situation. Roman giggled- the bastard definitely noticed his silent call for help, but was ignoring him entirely.

Eventually, the man let go of him, beaming with the same red-hot energy as Roman, his grin stretched so wide that his moustache curled upwards. "So  _ lovely _ to meet you, Virgil- Rosie's told me all about you, of course." Roman cleared his throat. "I didn't think the day would come, bless my heart. Little Ro-Ro-" Roman cleared his throat a bit louder.

" _ Anyway _ ," Roman said, playing off the hint of red that graced his cheeks. "Virgil, this is Jonathan. He owns this wondrous place!" He spun around, making a sweeping gesture over the rooftop restaurant and the seating down below.

"Oh, you can call me Jo, dear." Jo swatted Roman's shoulder affectionately. "Let's get you two seated, huh?" He picked up two menus and led them to a table near the opening that overlooked the downstairs area.

Roman's hand found Virgil's again, and when Virgil looked at him, his eyes were shining like amber, glittering with excitement. The more time Virgil got to spend with him, the surer he was that Roman didn't have another sun trapped inside him, he was the sun himself.

Their dinner went by far faster than it should have- despite the fact that they spent hours sitting there together, time sped by as if it was trying to steal the moment they had.

Roman told Virgil about his project: A screenplay about the prince of the bayous and how he fell in love with a merman. (The prince ended up asking the backwater witches for help, and they transformed him into a merman as well. The play ended in a big gay marriage with every creature of Louisiana present to watch.) Virgil didn't understand half the terms Roman used during his retelling, but he was still endlessly intrigued by the story- Roman really had a way with words. The more details he asked about, the brighter Roman's smile became until Virgil felt like he was sitting across from a shining star, melting under the warm excitement Roman radiated.

Virgil talked about his art some- in the past year, he had found back to realism, sketching whatever he found interesting or pretty- living in New York, you found a bunch of interesting (and even some pretty) things. He showed Roman the sketch of him he drew on his napkin, and Roman didn't stop cooing about it until their food arrived, leaving Virgil quite red (it was strange to be the more easily flustered one in a couple- while Patton could and did make him blush at any chance he got, Virgil was used to the roles being reversed far more than they were with Roman).

And after all was said and done, Roman walked Virgil back to his place (he still couldn't consider it a home; it was more of a studio with a bed and a kitchen in it). In a moment of sudden courage, Virgil invited Roman in- then he could check out the watercolour he had asked about during dessert, and maybe get a drink, or something like that. And to his surprise, Roman agreed, kissing Virgil three or five or ten times to emphasise his decision.

Roman didn't care about the sad, cold emptiness that filled the room despite the paintings covering every wall- not only did he not seem to notice it in the first place, but he made it fade back into the shadows where it belonged as he fawned over every artwork he could find; and for the first time in years, Virgil felt the sun shine on him as well again.


	3. Shut Up & Kiss Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: fighting; cursing; talk of death; recklessness; insecurity; mentions of homophobia

"You _ idiot _ !" Virgil's fists were clenched tight enough that his knuckles went white, his face flushed with anger. "Do you _ want _ to get yourself killed?"

"I don't see what the big deal is!" Roman combed his fingers through his wig, sorting the royal blue strands. "You didn't care when I did this before, why do you care now?"

"It doesn't matter!" Virgil snapped. "It doesn't matter, because it's _ dangerous _, but you won't listen to me anyway, right?"

Roman could see eye to eye with him in his platform boots, and he stomped, making the glass cabinet rattle. "I'd listen if you'd just _ tell _ me what's wrong! You _ always _ do this- I'm not gonna trust you blindly, asshole. This isn't a Disney movie."

"Oh, but you'd like that, right? Fall asleep and go to Wonderland, where everything is beautiful and you can just walk out in full drag and sing a duet with a fucking caterpillar and not get shot or _ worse- _"

"Alice doesn't sing a duet with the caterpillar," Roman mumbled, then shut up when he saw Virgil's glare. "I don't care! If I get jumped, then so be it- I've lived long enough."

"No, you haven't!" Virgil cleared his throat- it was clogged with forced-back tears by now, and the dam was seconds away from breaking. "You're not old enough to die yet and I won't let you!"

"You're not my mother, Virgil! I'm just as much as an adult as you and I can make decisions without you, too!"

"'Oh, it's my good right to get shot in the streets!'" Virgil mimicked Roman's voice. "This city won't protect you. It doesn't matter if you play a princess, they'll still see you as scum. Straight people couldn't give two shits about you, so _ stop pretending otherwise _!"

"And so what if I die?" Roman sounded choked up all of a sudden, staring at Virgil with tears of desperation in his eyes. "You're the only one who will care anyway. All my friends are dying or dead, my family is _ desperately _ trying to forget I even exist, and there's no reason to live sheltered away if all I've ever been good at was- was _ performing _ ! I'm a fake, Virgil, and- and I'm useless, and this is all I have left so _ please _ don't make me stop!"

Virgil softened. "Roman…"

Roman sniffled, his gaze focused on the wooden floor. He dropped his wig on Virgil's dresser, running his hand over his eyes and smearing it with golden make-up. "What?" Despite his attempt, all the bite was gone from his voice.

"I…" Virgil didn't know what to say. The things Roman had said to him were circling in his brain, and he couldn't grab one thing for long enough to say something comforting. All he knew was that Roman was _ crying _ and that it broke his heart in a million pieces. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you felt like that- Roman, that's not it _ at all _."

"Right." Roman laughed wetly.

"No, I- ugh." Virgil shook his head. "You're more than just a- a performer, and you gotta stay alive, I swear-"

"But for what? No one will remember me; no one will care when I die; but I can change that if I at least make a _ point- _"

"For me?" Virgil's voice was quieter than he wanted it to be, but Roman still fell silent when he spoke up. "Ro, what am I supposed to do without you?"

Roman didn't answer.

"I know it's already hopeless, but please- I don't wanna lose you just yet. Not like that." Virgil took Roman's hands. "I know I can't stop you, and I won't try, but-" He sighed. "Can you at least be more careful? Like, you know that what you did-"

"It was stupid, I know." Roman sighed. His chocolate brown eyes shone in the dim light Virgil’s ceiling lamp offered, his long eyelashes throwing shadows over his irises. Smudges of mascara added to the dark bags under his eyes. The sunshine that usually surrounded him like a halo of warmth had faded away, and Virgil couldn’t bear to see his light die out. “Just, being on stage feels so much less alone, and when I left, I just didn’t think…” He licked his lips, grimacing when the body glitter met his tongue. “I didn’t think at all. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, Ro-” Virgil tilted his boyfriend’s head upwards until they were seeing eye to eye again. “It’s okay. I- get it, kinda. I mean, I don’t perform- I don’t think I could- but…” He glanced at the studio half of his apartment. “If I had to give up drawing I’d probably go insane. So-” He sighed. His mind felt slow, his eyes heavy. He couldn’t deal with this any longer. “When you go out, please don’t do it alone, okay? And change there.”

Roman huffed. “I like your shower more than the ones at clubs, though.”

“_Roman _.”

“Fine, fine.” Roman smiled. “Love you, Virge.”

“Love you too.” Virgil mirrored the expression, his heart melting when the light returned to Roman’s eyes, then pushed him away when he leaned in for a kiss. “Nope, I’m not kissing you while you’re looking like a peacock.”

Roman scoffed, then decided to kiss Virgil’s forehead instead- he was finally at the right height for it, after all. He twirled around, heading to the bathroom. “See you in a sec!” he called.

“See ya,” Virgil replied, despite the knowledge that Roman couldn’t hear him anyway. He smiled to himself again, then began getting ready for bed. Maybe, with Roman by his side, he would be able to sleep tonight.


	4. Born This Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: mentions of violence, scars, death, insecurity

“ _ Virgil _ ! Hold still!” Roman’s fingers slipped, adding a streak of purple to Virgil’s already colour-speckled ear.

“Are you sure this’ll look good?” Virgil winced when the cold dye met his scalp, shivering and making Roman slip again.

“Of course it’ll look good! I’m doing it, after all.” Roman rubbed more purple goop into his hair, dyeing the newly bleached strands lavender. He leaned down to kiss the not-purple part of Virgil’s temple.

“Of course, how could I ever doubt you.” Virgil leaned into the kiss.

“Better not do it again,” Roman scolded playfully, pressing another tube of colour into his gloved palm. He hummed a soft melody Virgil knew he would learn to love within the next few days.

“Mm.” Virgil glanced at the package. “Just out of curiosity- how long is this gonna last?”

Roman laughed. “Until it rains, Cher- until it rains.”

* * *

With Roman came his violin- a beautifully crafted instrument older than Virgil himself. Really, he had never expected Roman to be the type; guitar, maybe, more likely piano, but violin?

But the instrument Roman ended up freeing from its case- carefully, as if it would shatter like glass if he gripped it too harshly- fit him too well. Flowers formed with thick smears of brightly coloured paint decorated the pale wood, along with Roman’s looped signature and a name Virgil didn’t recognise, but didn’t dare ask about.

“I’ve been learning since I was ten,” Roman admitted shyly, as if he were revealing some deep secret. “Before that, it was my uncle’s- Remus never stopped being mad that I got it.” He chuckled.

Virgil hadn’t heard a lot about Roman’s brother. He knew that they were twins, that Remus was some kind of psychopath (at least Roman said so), and that he left home the day he inherited his dad’s old pickup truck. Roman had shown him the scar on his ribs from when Remus stabbed him over the last cookie as well, and told him another few less-than-fun stories about their childhood. Virgil knew about Remus’ passion for horror as well, and that Roman had never understood it, but was terrified he was the one to push him away enough that he had to leave.

Roman had always been the poster child of the family, the star of the show- the one to tell funny stories to his little cousins at Thanksgiving to make them laugh, the one to help out at community centres (though Roman admitted to Virgil he hadn’t really done that out of pure goodness, but rather because of the stories this pair of old women would tell- of how they fled from an English village together after being persecuted for their love, leaving everything, including their beloved cat Cinder, in the hands of a younger lesbian couple to move to the United States). But that just made it so much more painful when Roman was kicked out with nothing but a change of clothes, ten bucks and his violin to his name.

But despite- or even because of- the history surrounding it, the instrument was a work of art in and of itself. The only things that made it even more beautiful were the melodies Roman lured from it. When he played, he was in another world, channelling his burning energy into the strings, into the soft bow, into every last note until they were both shining like the sun.

Virgil hadn’t been able to resist drawing him just once or twice- he just  _ had _ to capture that beauty, that indescribably captivating music that reeled him in until he forgot his own name.

One day, while he was painting an endlessly boring still-life, Roman suggested to add a bit of the colour he saw in the tune to a more interesting canvas. And so a row of fiery-red roses, and hiding with it Virgil’s shaky signature, wound its way around the body of Roman’s violin.

* * *

Roman stuck the tip of his tongue out in concentration, cutting a patch of hot pink fabric from a torn dress. It looked like it had been slashed through a few times- three clean cuts dragged over the waist; one sleeve was stained with wine. He held his square up to the window, shifting it so the sunlight caught the shiny threads and the entire square glittered. Frowning at it for a split second, Roman set the patch down again, then dug in the box he brought along.

Virgil cleared his throat and Roman spun around, his beautiful, wide smile spread over his face. “Virge, darling! I didn’t hear you come in.”

Roman tended not to notice things, or people, while he was working on his projects. Virgil was used to it by now. And after he had gotten used to avoiding Roman’s elbow when he accidentally startled his boyfriend, Virgil trained himself to clear his throat when he entered the room. Often enough Roman was still lost enough in whatever process to react, but at that point Virgil knew not to interrupt him.

“Of course you didn’t.” Virgil chuckled and bent down to kiss Roman’s crown, then slung his arms around his shoulders. “What’re ya up to, princess?”

Roman held up the square, still searching in the cardboard box. He tossed an equally mutilated dress aside, then held up what Virgil assumed was a half-finished quilt. “This!”

Virgil took it from him carefully, and Roman was immediately distracted by his collection again, barely noticing as Virgil stood up and unfolded it.

Around 90% of a rainbow flag unfurled. Virgil inspected the fabric patches- each of them seemed to be from a different dress, either in strips or squares (likely dependent on what was left of them), all arranged in the rainbow. A good amount of orange was missing, just like turquoise and purple- but Roman was cutting a strip from what could barely be counted as a scrap of lavender fabric as Virgil checked. He tugged on the flag and Virgil dropped it, letting Roman pin his pink square in place.

“Where did all the dresses come from?” Virgil plopped down as well, which Roman acknowledged with a sideways glance while he fastened the purple strip in place.

“They’re donated, mostly- by the houses of those who didn’t make it, or whatever family didn’t leave them.” Roman ran his fingers over the green part, then tapped a patterned square near the middle. “Jo’s boyfriend. He died about two years ago- in May.”

“Oh.” Virgil nodded. “And… the pink?”

“Jo,” Roman muttered, and Virgil tensed in shock. No… surely, Jo wasn’t- right? Roman shook his head quickly. “No, he’s not-” he said, as if he had read Virgil’s mind, “-but he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll last. And he wanted to see it done before he… he passed away, and I…” He cleared his throat.

“Right.” Roman looked so fragile at that moment, sitting on the newspaper covering the floor of Virgil’s studio and talking about the people he had left- and would leave behind. Virgil took his hand. “What about the others?”

And with a shaky sigh and a smile that was barely more than a ghost, Roman began to talk again, digging up dozens of stories about his old friends- and, slowly but surely, his smile got more sincere.

On that night, Virgil swore he would never let anything happen to Roman, even if he had to die twice over to keep him safe.


	5. To Noise Making

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: none

" _ Wake me up before you go-go _ ," Roman sang, twirling around while he spread scarf after scarf over their bed.

Virgil looked up from his half-finished painting- a commission by an Anastasia White, who lived in SoHo and was paying him appropriately. She had said that gays were the only ones she could trust to give her a tasteful portrait of her wife- and while Virgil didn't know if he could confirm that, he wasn't complaining about the money. And though he should really be continuing the painting so he got it done in time, his boyfriend was too adorable not to watch.

" _ Don't leave me hangin' on like a yo-yo _ ," Roman continued, humming along to the tape. He didn't seem to notice Virgil's glance, lost in whatever he was preparing, but that didn't help Virgil's vanishing focus on his own project.

Roman danced around the bed, sorting the scarves by colour, then stringing them into a clothing hanger. He ran his hand through his hair and ruffled his dark brown curls. Virgil gazed at him with a dopey smile for longer than he cared to admit, then when he came to his senses, shook his head- he really had to concentrate.

Tiny brush strokes lined the ruffles on the dark green dress- Virgil glanced at the photograph clipped to his easel, though he had studied it for so long now it would probably be printed in his memory forever (and what a long forever that would be). He mixed some phthalo blue into the green, giving it a hint of teal- perfect. He relaxed into the colours, the way the paint mixed with the clear base and made the world slow down, the shine in Ms. White’s eyes he had gotten just right.

Roman continued singing, but his voice melted into the background- he was sorting a stack of paper now, and Virgil assumed it was part of his screenplay. It was almost finished now, but he- to his frustration- still wasn't allowed to read it. They had spent enough nights working side-by-side with the window open to let the paint vapours disappear, the ceiling lamp attracting moths, for Roman to have gotten a significant chunk done.

He told Virgil about scenes sometimes, little bits and parts he needed to sort out, and Virgil was endlessly curious how they fit together. He had drawn the main characters once, as well as he could imagine them, and Roman had been near tears when he saw them for the first time. Now the drawing was pinned over his desk, the cartoonish smiles beaming down at him while he worked.

" _ You take the gray skies outta my way _ -" Roman draped his arms over Virgil's shoulders as he sang, pressing a kiss to his cheek. " _ You make the sun shine brighter than Doris Day _ ." He swayed him back and forth, and Virgil set his paintbrush down on the box beside him. He let Roman pull him up and into a quick, chaotic dance.

Virgil laughed as Roman pulled him back and forth, lip-syncing to the song as if he was the one singing (it got more difficult when a second voice joined, but he still did his best). They twirled each other around to the rhythm of the song, and even after it ended, they kept dancing, moving to a choreography only they knew.

It was unimaginable how much Roman made him feel- Virgil could barely believe it. He didn’t know what he had done to deserve this radiating ball of sunshine in his life, but he reckoned it was about time the universe paid him back. He had the stars shining in the heavens (no matter how much it hurt to see them go, they were still smiling down on him from above), and the sun wrapped up in his arms.

No matter how lost he felt at times, Virgil had to be the luckiest planet in the world if Roman was the centre of his solar system.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry you had to wait so long for this one and it ended up so short ;-;  
i'll try to get the next one out sooner~


	6. Pink in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: reference to past self-harm, death mentions

Roman awoke to a hand softly running through his hair. He sighed, not daring to move yet. The fingers brushing through his hair, playing with his curls and slowly scratching his scalp made him melt further into his pillow with a sigh.

Virgil chuckled and tugged on his earlobe. “Good morning, your Highness.”

Roman opened his eyes. He let out a low grumble, then closed his eyes again, nuzzling Virgil’s chest. When his boyfriend stopped playing with his hair, Roman grumbled again, kissing the wrist next to his nose (he tried not to flinch back at the thin lines of scar tissue disfiguring the soft skin), then pulled the attached hand back into his hair.

Virgil kept his hand still. “Don’t I get a good morning back?” he teased. His pinky stroked over Roman’s nape, and Roman shuddered.

“Gmrrng,” he mumbled, then sighed happily when Virgil started petting his hair again. His hand tightened around the t-shirt Virgil hadn’t been wearing when they went to bed yesterday. It was soft and smelled like Virgil and felt nice to bury his face in, so he did just that, until he had melted on his boyfriend’s chest like chocolate in the sun.

"You wanna get up, Ro-Ro?" Roman felt a distinct tug on one strand of hair- Virgil was braiding it.

"Mrngh," Roman said. He hugged Virgil's waist, sinking into the bed as far as possible to show how little he approved of that idea.

"Okay." Virgil laughed and Roman's heart melted to just as much of a puddle as his body already was. "We can stay here for now."

"I love you," Roman told Virgil's t-shirt.

Virgil kissed Roman's crown. "I love you too." He opened the tiny braid, then started combing his fingers through Roman's hair again.

Roman let himself be carried away by the soft touches, sighing happily when Virgil went over to massaging his shoulders. He turned his head to glare at the sunlight through the half-open blinds. "D'you talk to Patton yesterday?"

Roman woke up to Virgil's voice regularly- he never made himself noticeable when he did- when he spoke to the stars. His voice was so soft and fragile as he talked, leaving pauses as if Patton could answer him. Virgil told Patton about his work, about his day, about Roman. He talked about the time they shared- Roman knew they grew up together, were kicked out of their boarding school and moved in together when they were sixteen. He knew how Patton died as well, and that Virgil was lucky the two bullets hit him just so, leaving only the scars on his back. (Though Roman couldn't believe it at times- it was near impossible to be shot like that and not die. Virgil had to have been kept alive by a miracle for him to get better that fast.) Sometimes Roman wished he had gotten to meet Patton; he had to have been amazing if he meant that much to Virgil.

On some nights- they were scattered and rare- Roman heard Virgil sing. Old songs, the kind his parents liked to listen to when they cooked, all of them released before he was born. Virgil's voice broke at high notes, at certain lines, but Roman was sure he would never hear anything more beautiful.

Virgil nodded. The fingertips that had been trailing over Roman's back, making him shiver and smile, halted for a heartbeat before picking up speed again.

"Is everything okay?"

Virgil squeezed his arm, and Roman looked up just in time to catch his tender smile.

"Everything's okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this is my favourite chapter for this work so far :DDD
> 
> **stop reading here if you don't like angst!!!**  
alt ending: they keep cuddling, have a long and happy life, virgil finds a cure for his curse and is reunited with both patton and roman in the afterlife and everyone is happy


	7. King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: illness; death mention ("i'm gonna die"-type, not serious); medicine

Roman woke up with a raging headache.

He groaned and flopped over in bed. Virgil was doodling at his desk, not yet taking notice of his boyfriend's agony. Roman groaned louder.

Virgil looked up. "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."

Roman whined.

"I know, mornings are tough, but-" Virgil interrupted himself, his face darkening with worry as his gaze shifted. "Ro, you okay?"

"My head hurts," Roman mumbled. And felt a bit on fire- really, most of his body did. His stomach was turning, and his voice was rough, even considering he just woke up. He grimaced.

Virgil got up and trudged over- he was wearing the stupid socks Jo got him for his birthday, purple with little clouds and lightning bolts on them. He laid his hand on Roman's forehead, and Roman melted into the impossibly cold touch (or maybe melting was the wrong word- he was practically condensating against Virgil's fingers). "You're burning up." Roman didn't even have the state of mind to appreciate Virgil's cute frown at those words; he only whined and batted at Virgil when he pulled away again. "I'll get you some water."

The forty-nine seconds he spent in the kitchen felt like torture. Roman's skull split in two three times over, and his throat was drier than a desert during a drought. He whimpered and hugged the suffocatingly warm blanket to his chest.

"'Kay, here we are- Ro?" Virgil nudged his shoulder, making him look up. "Here, I got you these-" He opened his hand, showing Roman three white pills- one of them was an aspirin, thank the stars. "-and this." A tall glass of icy water was in his other hand. He set it down on the crate next to the bed, then helped Roman sit up- he was so nice and cold; Roman didn't want him to leave- and held the glass so he had a chance to drink without spilling the drink (hurriedly filtered and chilled tap water, but right now it tasted like the nectar of the gods, cooling him down until he was finally a comfortable temperature again). He took the pills Virgil gave him. Powder from one of them coated his throat and made him cough, a sensation that was similar to throwing up sandpaper.

Roman whimpered.

"Hey, it'll be okay- you'll get better soon."

Roman shook his head. “I’m gonna  _ die  _ here.” When Virgil moved away, he hung onto his sleeve, not yet willing to be alone.

“You won’t die- it’s just a fever. You’ll be better by tomorrow.” Virgil took his hand, brushing over his knuckles. “You want me to stay?”

“If you stay, I’ll get you sick too…” To be fully honest, Roman didn’t mind the idea in the least- Virgil was nice and soft and cuddling with him was a welcome distraction from the hammering pain in his head. Still, Virgil was the last person to deserve what he came down with, ‘just a fever’ or not.

Virgil chuckled. “I haven’t been sick since I was seven, I’m not getting sick now- don’t worry about me. C’mon, move over.” He slid into bed next to his boyfriend, which was acknowledged with a happy squeak and an arm around his chest.

Roman cuddled up to Virgil, sighing when he slowly rubbed his back. He nestled into the crook of Virgil’s neck, and Virgil pressed a kiss to his burning forehead. “Wait, what about your painting?” Roman mumbled. It had been so important to Virgil for so long now, and he finally had some time off from commissioned pieces- they had been talking about it yesterday.

“Later,” Virgil said, going over to stroking over his arm. “Get well first, Princess.”


	8. Burned Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: fighting; illness; talk of death; lying

“I’m not going!” Roman stomped, making the cabinets rattle. "You just don't understand- they-" He interrupted himself with a cough that caused him to double over.

Virgil sat him down on the bed. "You could  _ die _ , Ro- please, just give it a chance, I-"

"I'm gonna die anyway! In the hospital, they treat people like me like some kind of  _ animal _ \- I'm not gonna stay in solitary for the rest of my miserable life!"

"Maybe they can heal you! Roman, please, I just want to have you back-"

"I'm right here, asshole! I'm right here, but if you lock me away, I-" Roman sobbed, then burst into another coughing fit. Virgil offered him a glass of water, and Roman turned away, staring at the floor. "There's no cure. I'll die anyway, and I'll die soon, so please just let me stay here."

"But what if-"

"Did you ever watch your friends be treated like a rabid animal waiting to attack? Did you ever watch nurses draw straws to see who's forced to care for your favourite person in the world?" Roman's voice gave out. "We don't have the money anyway."

“I can make it some way, I’ll do whatever you need, I-”

“Virgil, just listen to me!” Roman choked out. “Look, even if you got another job, even if the gallery you're preparing is actually a hit, even if a single agent ends up even looking at my manuscript, there’s no point. You’ll still be broke at the end of this. Bill’s dating someone who works for some pharmaceutical company- he’s been smuggling out painkillers for anyone who needs them. We can ask him for help, but otherwise I'll have to stay here. There’s nothing we can do.” His voice was barely a whisper at the end of his rant, and he was staring at the floor with tears in his eyes.

Virgil nodded. He bit his lip in thought. “I’m sorry.” With a miserable cough, he cleared his throat, fighting the urge to cry as well.

Roman shook his head. “You got tested too, right?” Virgil hated how weak his voice was. He hated how he had to watch the fire in Roman’s eyes die out with each day of sickness, of pain without any chance of going back. He had promised himself he would save the flame, even if it ended up being only a spark, and watching even the last bit of light disappear until the warm chocolate brown was closer to the colour of a dulled beer bottle at the side of the road was like taking another bullet to the chest.

Yesterday, at the last doctor’s office near them that would do HIV testing, Virgil saw the last flash of hope darken- there was no hope, no healing. It was too late for that, but it had been too late since the moment Roman got infected. He was blaming himself for it- of course, who wouldn’t? Though he hadn’t known, and couldn’t have known, he knew it was his own fault. Virgil couldn’t convince him otherwise, no matter what he tried.

“Yeah.” Lie. “I’m clean.” Not a lie. There was something about him that wouldn’t let him die- there was no way that something would abandon him now. He couldn't die if he tried; and he wouldn't die if he didn't.

"I'm so tired," Roman whimpered. Virgil could tell he hadn't meant to sound the way he did; that he was cursing the dip in his voice at the last word.

"I know, Princess." Virgil offered him the glass again and Roman took it, draining it in seconds as if it was the first water he had in a day. He let Virgil push him down gently until he was more-or-less comfortably leaning against the stack of pillows on the bed. "Rest, okay? I'll be right here." With a kiss to Roman's forehead, Virgil went back to his desk again, ignoring his boyfriend's weak protest. It hurt to leave him there, but there was no other way.

Virgil had to do what it took to keep Roman alive.


	9. Love Me Like There's No Tomorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: talk of death; illness; alcohol mention

Roman had been bed-ridden for weeks now. He had survived the winter, had been almost stable through spring, and Virgil was begging the universe for just enough time that he got to see his twenty-eighth birthday. He knew wishful thinking wasn't worth much; the universe would take Roman from him the second he turned his back.

Virgil couldn't bear to turn his back. He was terrified he would miss that last sliver of light as it faded out of the sky, leaving nothing but clouds and darkness behind. He couldn't leave him back. Virgil didn't work, barely ate (only when Roman told him he had to, or when Jo pressed another full Tupperware dish into his hands and he didn't want to seem impolite), didn't sleep unless Roman was with him, breathing at his side.

Roman  _ hated _ being in bed. Every second he was trapped under the covers just made them feel heavier, as if they would crush him to death before he died on his own. Not being able to use the bathroom without help was degrading, and he hated having to ask Virgil every time he needed something.

The worst part, though, the most despicable, soul-crushing part of it all was the boredom. It was eating Roman alive, tearing him to bits and pieces one by one and there was nothing he could do. Reading only got him so far before his mind was near melting, listening to the same tapes on repeat for the hundredth time got unbearable as well, even if they used to be his favourite in the entire world. Virgil couldn't entertain him all day, no matter how much he would've liked to, and the radio, TV, all of that got just as painfully  _ boring _ after a few days of nothing else.

The only thing worse than being trapped in Roman's body was being trapped in his brain.

* * *

"Hey, Princess- how are you?" Virgil pressed a kiss to Roman's forehead, ignoring the bruise just below his temple.

Grabbing onto Virgil's sleeve and shaking his arm, Roman made a noise between a groan and a whine.

Virgil let Roman pull him down with the minimal force he brought up until he was sitting on the bed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to leave you for so long."

Roman scoffed. "Are you kidding? At least you get to leave- I can't trap you with me." He shuffled into what could almost be counted as a sitting position. "Let me live through you. What did you do today?"

"Uh…" Virgil told Roman about his appointment at the gallery, about his talk with the house mother Roman had performed for on the day they first met, about waiting at the bank and bringing a package to the post office. It was a boring story, really, to the point of being almost depressing, but Roman clung to his words as if they were the last rungs on a ladder to a bottomless pit and he was near falling.

Virgil showed off a quick sketch of a girl he had seen while in line- she had been cooing over the stamps with the statue of liberty on them, then whining when her mother dragged her away from them and smiled at him apologetically. Virgil hadn't minded her one bit- he remembered looking at her pink corduroy overalls and pigtails that bounced when she walked and thinking that if him and Roman ever had a girl, Roman would've dressed her exactly like that. (He didn't tell Roman that part, though.)

And when Roman was done fawning over the drawing- he loved everything, from the ribbons in her hair to the stamp Virgil drew in her hand- he flipped the page of Virgil's sketchbook (after a nod from its owner) and opened a pencil drawing of two hands with intertwined pinkies, each hand donning a dulled wedding ring.

Roman smiled down at his own ring, then ran his thumb over Virgil’s. He knew the rings couldn’t have been expensive; the wedding surely wasn’t. It could barely be counted as a wedding at all.

Even the officiant wasn't sure if he was qualified to pronounce them married in the eyes of God, but to be honest, Virgil couldn't care less about what He thought. It was important to Roman, and that was what mattered.

Aside from that, there was a celebration with a stunning (and  _ huge _ ) cake Jo made and enough champagne to let them forget this was probably the last celebration they would have with Roman among them. Virgil hadn't seen the studio (it was their largest room) as clean as it was since he first moved in, and even with everyone invited, it was still strange to see it so empty. His sketches were missing from the wall; the newspapers covered in paint were no longer on the floor; and Roman's desk had been moved to their bedroom long before.

And despite the joy in the air, Virgil couldn't help but imagine how empty the apartment would feel with his sunshine missing from it.

"Thank you for staying," Roman said after a moment or two of dwelling in comfortable silence. "I don't mean to be too-" He gestured lamely with the hand that wasn't busy drawing shapes on Virgil's palm. "-but I don't think a lot of people would." He smiled. "You're good, Virgil."

Virgil shook his head. "Only for you."


	10. Good Riddance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: major character death; illness

Roman's fever hadn't gone down for a week now. He could barely sleep longer than an hour at a time before he was woken up by his own harsh coughing. Though the days were just getting shorter, there wasn't a drop of sunlight left in him- he was a hollow shell of what he used to be.

Virgil didn't allow himself to mourn just yet. There was still a chance he would heal from this, he would wake up and his skin would glow again, his strange bruises would fade, the fever would pass and that terrible coughing would stop. Hope wasn't lost yet. It couldn't be lost.

Roman didn't answer him when he spoke- but Virgil tried not to mind. He pushed the thought that this was just like talking to Patton to the furthest corner of his brain and kept showing Roman his art, kept talking about his day, kept asking for the bits and pieces Roman could give him.

And sometimes, it was okay. Virgil read Roman's manuscript with his favourite writer next to him, eagerly looking over his shoulder while he commented on lines and pieces he liked. He explained phrases Virgil didn't understand- Cajun dialect was quite the special one- and giggled at his reactions and the sun seemed to rise from its hiding place again. Virgil couldn't ever forget Roman was sick, but sometimes, he could look past it.

Virgil tried not to think about going to sleep and waking up with Roman's corpse next to him. He tried not to think about planning a funeral. He tried not to think about being all alone in this cold, empty apartment, about how dark and grey his life would be without at least a glimpse of sunshine by his side.

He didn't think about going to the laundromat or down the street to get groceries or to appointments and missing the last spark of life. He didn't think about Roman spending the last minutes of his life all alone, surrounded by lifeless paintings and dark shadows. He didn't think about Roman dying, because he couldn't.

He thought about how maybe, this was his fault. Maybe his curse was what killed Patton and then Roman through a series of freak coincidences- maybe he was destined to spend eternity alone, looking twenty-two years old for the rest of his life. Maybe, in all his attempts to keep Patton's light, Roman's flame alive, he was the one killing them.

Virgil couldn't fight back his thoughts anymore.

* * *

Roman died on the fifteenth of September. He had lived through twenty-eight years of life, with the last one spent with his boyfriend praying for just one day more every evening. Those prayers weren't enough to keep him alive.

Roman was cried over by friends that were close enough to be his family, and family members that were too estranged to even be considered friends.

Virgil clung onto the memories. He kept every picture, every poem Roman wrote for him, every tape they listened to together until it all became unbearable to see. He wore his wedding ring until it lost meaning, and stayed with the places, the items and sounds that cut into him like a knife to the heart, until he locked them all away with fuzzy photographs and old, broken records as he left New York City for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that was part two! i know, i know, you don't have to say anything  
tbh i'm not as happy with this as i thought i would be? this was the part i was really looking forward to, and it kinda fizzled out.  
ah well :)  
i hope to see you again in the next part ♡
> 
> also a humongous thank you to everyone who commented- you're what gave me the drive to keep going, even when i was making myself sad with my writing. you're real angels
> 
> on to the next part!
> 
> yours truly,  
casey 🌳


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